Groce would share that sort of message over the years with his friend, Alan Bennett, who's on the program committee for the Grand Rapids Historical Society. Bennett persuaded Groce to assemble a one-hour lecture, augmented with photos from the past, titled "The 1950s Black Barbershop in Grand Rapids: A Cultural Institution."

Tonight at the Gerald R. Ford Presidential Museum, 303 Pearl St. NW, Groce, 68, a retired educator and social worker, will provide a glimpse into that past, sharing virtually everything short of a leather strop.

Daniel S. Groce

The presentation sponsored by the historical society begins at 7 p.m.

You might think it unusual for a historical society to back a lecture about a barbershop -- until you realize it was far more than a place to get your locks trimmed.

"It was a real haven for black men," Bennett said. "A place of security and comfort -- and just a fascinating place."

The first known black-owned barbershop in the Grand Rapids area may have dated back to the early 1830s, when Michigan was a territory, says Ruth Van Stee, a librarian's assistant at the Grand Rapids Public Library and active with the historical society.

Later, according to Van Stee, a man named James Craig owned a barbershop for blacks in 1873 on what then was known as Canal Street, a thoroughfare that paralleled the east bank of the Grand River and no longer exists.

In those post-Civil War days, jobs were scarce for a black man, and to own a barbershop was to court the more important members of the black community -- ministers and officers of the Masons, for instance.

On Grandville Avenue, the Groce barbershop was an open door for all -- everyone from bellhops to the unemployed to up-and-coming teachers and lawyers.

Sadly, part of the patrons' conversations centered on "where to go and where not to go; and where you were welcome, and not wanted," Groce said.

During the late 1940s and early 50s, Groce was a kid attending Franklin Elementary School, the second of five children born to Daniel S. and wife Katie B. When he wasn't hitting the books, he worked some at the barbershop, shining shoes and helping his dad.

Above all, he must have listened hard, because he has quick recall of how the men would congregate to argue politics, discuss religion and recap sports in an era when Jackie Robinson was just breaking the color barrier in professional baseball.

It was a different world, with the barbershop staying open well past midnight some weekends. Although the shop sported three chairs for cutting hair, most of the space was taken up by conversation.

A speakeasy beckoned from next door, where you could get a drink and do a little gambling. But the centerpiece of the block was the barbershop, where regulars rubbed shoulders, played checkers and discussed the day's issues.

"It was a place," said Groce's friend Bennett, "where a person could come and share, a place where people who had no voice, could have a voice."